House, Your Motorcycle is Deafening
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: Five times Wilson has a migraine


The first time it started in his office, around one pm.

He groaned, resting his head in the crook of his elbow. Three patients down, five more to go, two of them terminal news delivery. He was very tired already.

Wilson winced, as House bashed open the balcony door.

"What's up with you? You look worse than your patients. Whatever, does this look like cancer?"

Wilson squinted up at the chest x-ray.

"Enlarged hylar lymph nodes..." he said at low volume.

"I can see that, why else would I be asking you?" Wilson was fairly sure House wasn't being so loud on purpose, he was too focused on his case to care about being annoying right now...

"To torture me..."

"By asking you for a consult? I'm offended."

"I've got a headache."

"Oh, poor you. Consult please?"

"Maybe, maybe not, I can't tell for sure. Do a biopsy."

House nodded, shutting the door behind him. Thankfully he didn't seem into causing his friend agony today.

By the time Wilson stumbled out of the elevator, shielding his eyes from the glare, he was totally exhausted. He didn't notice the janitor's cart in front of him, and he ran right into it, falling back with a thud, jarring his already spinning head.

He wasn't exactly sure what had happened after that, he had been a bit distracted by the general sensation that someone had decided to dynamite a passage between his ears, eyes, and every other part of his head, but when he finally got his eyes to focus again he was being led by the elbow towards a bench against the wall. He winced at the sound of the person's footfalls, thump slap-thump thump... House.

"You hit your head when you fell?"

"No."

House guided the younger doctor onto the bench, hand on his friend's shoulder to keep him in the general vicinity of upright.

"Why're you all loopy then?"

"Headache."

"You had a headache five hours ago, it wasn't this bad, and it should have gone away by now."

"Migraine."

House sighed.

"Idiot. Why didn't you say something before now? You're not a machoist." House's voice had lowered in volume by several decibels, and it didn't hurt quite as much now.

"No, I'm not. I just had to get my work done, and if I'd told you I'd be so drugged up I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between liver cancer and kidney pie."

House snorted, sitting down next to his friend.

The second time it started in his hotel room, right before leaving for work.

He called in sick, not trusting himself to drive, and tried his best to ignore the stabbing pains cuddy's annoyed questioning caused him.

He didn't have anything particularly effective stashed in the room, just some excedrin and acetaminophen.

Wilson curled up on his bed, lights off, curtains closed, do not disturb sign in place. Unfortunately he had not put a chair under the doorknob, so House still got in around three pm.

"What are you doing here?" Wilson asked tiredly.

"Got off clinic duty by telling cuddy I would check on you."

"And you decided to actually follow through on your promise because...?"

"Because cuddy called the guy at the front desk and told him to call her when I got here."

"Oh. You checked, you can leave now."

"Guy's also supposed to call her when I leave. And I'm very slightly intrigued by what could possibly have made jimmy the boy wonder skip work."

"Headache."

"So? That didn't stop you last month."

"Migraine. Blurry vision. Driving. Bad idea. Shut up."

"Ok."

House sat down on the end of Wilson's bed.

"Go home."

"Not ok. Cuddy's gonna find out when I leave, she'll get mad if it's right away."

Wilson groaned, putting a pillow over his ears.

House smirked, but did try to be quiet about it when he popped open a beer out of Wilson's fridge.

The third time it started in the car on the way to work.

He swerved off to the side of the road, put the parking break on, and turned off the car.

About three hours later somebody knocked on the passenger side window, frowning in at him. He groaned, turned the car back on, and rolled down the window so he could confirm that it actually was who he thought it was.

It was.

"House, what are you doing?"

"I think you have less right to ask that question than I do."

"Headache."

"That's the third in less than two months."

"Well excuse me for getting migraines."

House rolled his eyes, opening the door.

Wilson frowned.

"What are you doing?"

"You can't stay in the car forever, it's twenty degrees in the car, maybe ten outside. You're shivering. Get out.

"I can't drive House, and if I'm in a moving car I'll get sick."

"You're not going to be in a moving car, you're going to be on the back of a motorcycle. You can feel and see everything that's going on, you won't get sick."

"House, your motorcycle is deafening."

"Not if you're wearing a helmet. Here."

House handed him the red and black object, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his jacket pocket.

Wilson sighed, gingerly lowering the padded plastic over his pounding head, House having to hold him up as soon as he got out of the car. He was so tired it wasn't even funny, and everything had turned into a nauseating, swirling, multicolored blur the moment he had stood up.

The motorcycle ride hadn't been as bad as he had expected, and he had finally crashed on House's couch, giving the elated diagnostician yet another excuse to skip work, but refusing to be 'treated' by his over enthusiastic friend.

The fourth time it started in a patient's room.

He must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew he was lying on the couch in his office, someone rummaging through the contents of his desk.

"House?" he whispered, feeling it was inevitable.

"Yep. Four in three months, nice record."

"Go away. Why are you even here?"

"Why do you think?"

"Cuddy did not give you off clinic to stay down the hall from your office."

"No... she gave me off clinic when I told her I was really worried about you. I think it was meant as a reward. Really, it was a bit too easy..."

Wilson groaned, wishing he had more pillows in his office, so he could throw one at House and still have two to cover his ears with.

"You even have triptan in here?"

"Allergic."

"Seriously?"

"Shut up."

The fifth, and most worrisome time, it had been lingering all morning, then slammed him like a tsunami when he was in surgery.

He handed the scalpel to the assisting, asked someone to page a surgeon, and collapsed.

When he woke up, it was once again to find House, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed he was lying in, watching him.

"This is getting ridiculous."

"Ow."

"It's wrong you know. You're upsetting the balance of the universe."

Wilson frowned.

"What?"

"You are not supposed to be the one collapsing and getting put in hospital beds all the time. That's my job."

Wilson blinked at him.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize!" said House, annoyed.

"Owww..."

House sighed.

"Go back to sleep."

"What happened with my patient?"

"I don't know, I got paged when my friend passed out cold turkey in the middle of operating. I saw you didn't stab him with the scalpel when you went down, and really didn't care beyond that."

Wilson nodded apologetically, wincing as the room spun even more.

House sighed again, shaking his head.

"You need to say something next time."

"It wasn't that bad, I wasn't dizzy or really hurting, I thought it was just a normal headache."

"And the four migraines you've had in the last three months didn't clue you off that you should be careful?"

Wilson sighed.

"Sorry."

"I told you, don't apologize. Just fix it next time."

"Ok."

The sixth time, Wilson was watching a movie with House; some stupid cop movie that's main merits seemed to be good videos of explosions and people running, this being part of a Saturday morning film festival House had insisted he be the second attendant of.

"House... can you turn... the movie off?" Wilson asked, putting his hands over his ears and closing his eyes.

House glanced at his friend, then got up, neglecting to do as Wilson requested.

Wilson leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands.

"Wilson, gimme your arm."

Wilson looked up, frowning at his friend.

"Why? I told you... I was allergic to su... sumitriptan..."

"Yeah, I know that. I'm not an idiot. Here."

Wilson jerked his arm away, but it was too late, House had emptied the syringe into his arm.

"What did you give me?" he asked, less strongly then he would have liked.

"It's a secret."

"House..." groaned Wilson.

"Seriously, it's nothing major."

"House, tell... tell... uh... House?"

House sat down, grinning at his frowning friend.

"Uh... House... the room's spinning. Is that normal for whatever you gave me?"

"Yep."

"Did you give me a narcotic?"

"No."

"House?"

"What?"

"I feel kinda funny..."

"Also normal."

"House what did you give... give... uh... give me?"

Wilson frowned further, swaying a bit.

House shook his head.

"Nothing dangerous. How's you head?"

"Better..." said Wilson, slumping onto House's lap.

"That's what I was aiming for."

Wilson blinked sleepily up at House, still frowning.

"What'd'ya gimme, House?" asked Wilson, slurring a little.

"Nothing you're allergic to. It still getting better?"

"Yes... uh... House... I'm... uh..."

"Sleepy?"

"Yeah..."

"Good."

"House...?"

"Yeah Wilson, I'm here."

"Oh..."

House watched Wilson drift in and out of sleep, the sedative taking effect at last.

"House?" he asked after a while.

"What?"

"What did you give me?"

"Sedative."

"Oh... thanks..."

"You're welcome. Feel ok now?"

"Uh-huh."

House grinned very slightly, as Wilson smiled hazily up at him.

"Good. Makes me a bit unhappy when you're blacking out all the time."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Sorry." Wilson looked rather upset.

"Hey, it's ok."

"Nuh-uh. I shouldn't worry ya. You worry you enough without me worrying you and me and you... wait..."

House laughed, brushing a swish of hair off the younger doctor's face.

"House?"

"What?"

"You did something nice."

"Which, the sedative or the hair?"

"Two somethings nice."

House laughed again, then stopped, considering.

"You think you're gonna remember much of anything that happens now?"

"Doubt it. I'm gonna regret that, aren't I?"

"No."

Wilson frowned, but House placed his hand over his mouth, hiding the unhappy expression.

"House?" asked Wilson, his words muffled by House's hand.

House smiled a little.

"Nothing weird."

"It's you. Everything's weird."

House chuckled.

"I really shouldn't do this while you're stoned. But since you'll remember it otherwise, here I go."

Wilson blinked, as House pulled him up, so he was leaning against his friend's chest.

House's arms slipped around Wilson's chest, and his chin rested on Wilson's shoulder.

"This doesn't feel like I'm being taken advantage of."

"It's more that I can take advantage of the fact you won't remember."

"Oh. Why do you care, all you're doing is hugging me..."

"Wilson, you're stoned. Logic won't work for you right now."

"You said you were taking advantage of me. But you're not. You're just being nice."

"Yep."

Wilson paused for a while, trying to figure out what was going on.

"House..."

"What?"

"I like it when I'm stoned."

House laughed, and Wilson smiled a little, the vibrations tickling his back.

House kept smiling, as Wilson slowly fell asleep for real, still held by his friend.


End file.
